Plus One
by chezchuckles
Summary: Post-ep for the Wedding. SPOILERS. co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles. Multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Plus One**

a co-authored, post-ep story by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>He's surprised when Kate doesn't take her arm away from his until she absolutely has to, and even then - as they slide into the pew, smile at the people already sitting there - she keeps her hand at his elbow, fingers lightly curled around the crook of his arm, as if she doesn't want to let go.<p>

It sends a little thrill to his heart, his whole body tingling with awareness - with the pleasure of having her so close.

_Maybe third time's the charm._

They've been handed a program by a cute little girl, and Kate looks at it, her bare arm brushing the material of his jacket as she turns the pages; he focuses on breathing evenly, reads over her shoulder to distract himself.

It works better than he expected.

"Woah," he whispers, even though there's no reason to: the music is still playing, the last couple of guests about to sit down. "How many pages are there? How long is this thing?"

Kate gives him an amused look, shoves the program on his lap. "What did you expect, Castle? They're both Catholic."

He studies the cover page, where Ryan and Jenny's names are intertwined together in an artistic, ornate way, before flipping it to have a look inside. Oh. Yeah. That is...a lot of prayers. And readings. Whatever.

"Do you know any of these?" he asks his partner - his _plus one. _He shouldn't read too much into it; he knows he shouldn't.

Or should he?

"No," Kate murmurs. "Some of the names are familiar, but...no. You?"

"Hmm, no. Not exactly a big church-goer."

His eyes are still lingering on the program (on a few occasions it says "song", but surely they don't expect him to sing?) when Kate nudges him, nods to a row behind them.

"By the way, did you see Esposito and Lanie sitting together?"

"What? No!"

Castle's exclamation earns him a few glares, but he doesn't care; he turns and cranes his neck, looking for them. They're not sitting very far, and he's not being very discreet, so of course they both notice him; Lanie smiles slyly, waves her hand, while Esposito gives him a pointed look that seems to mean _don't jinx it, man._

Unable to help himself, he grins largely at the couple before a hand tugs on his shirt, brings him back to a more decent position. His knee hits the bench in front of them, and he winces. Kate Beckett has a strong grip.

"It's starting, Castle," she whispers. Her tone has something scolding to it, but her green-brown eyes are shining with excitement, lips parted, the corners of her mouth coming up into what promises to be a gorgeous smile.

He has to push back the sudden urge to kiss her.

The music changes indeed, accompanying the entrance of the first bridesmaid; he turns his head to watch, feels Kate leaning in to do the same. He tries to shut out all thoughts of her body in that dress, the slim length of her in the treacherous grey fabric - demure, and yet eagerly clinging to every curve.

It's not working so well.

Before he knows it, the wedding march is playing, and everyone is standing up. Kate's hand hovers, an inch from his, so tantalizingly close; and he gives in, letting his pinky flirt with hers as he turns to watch Jenny walk in on her father's arm.

* * *

><p>It's beautiful.<p>

It's amazingly long, this Catholic wedding with the full mass, but the whole thing is breathtaking.

Of course, her too-tight chest and her breathlessness might possibly be the fault of the writer sitting pressed against her in the pew, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. In their defense, the church is packed with people and their row is squeezed tight, but she's not pressed against the woman on her right like she is Castle on her left.

She has her legs crossed, left over right, but she uncrosses them to switch (one leg is starting to fall asleep), and when she does, her calf slants across his shin, brushing the fabric of his pants. She curls her leg back, trying to avoid invading his space, and finds that now her toe curls up under the back of his knee.

Castle shifts, his elbow comes back against hers, pressing her arm into the stiff wooden pew as if to warn her to stop squirming. Kate leaves it alone, lets her foot rest in the crook of his knee, warm and intimate.

She leans in towards him to see better, realizes her hand is hovering just over his thigh as if she might place it there for balance.

And then she does. Because she just wants to see Ryan's face for a moment, get a better glimpse through all the people, and then she settles back, slides her fingers from the top of his thigh, wraps them around the program.

The priest has the audience stand for the first reading; they rise as one, the whole audience, and Kate feels again her fingers right at his, the heat of him nudging at her, tempting and close. The backs of their hands brush; the flush of joy that masquerades as need comes rippling through her.

She shouldn't kid herself any longer; it's not just attraction.

A girl in a pretty white dress goes up to the podium off to one side, begins to read from the Bible:

"Love is patient. . .It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."

It is only a murmur beside her, only a faint repetition of the reading, as if it slipped thoughtlessly out from his lips, but it's Castle. It's Castle softly whispering, and it shades the whole verse with meaning.

_Always._

Love is patient. Love never fails.

* * *

><p>They *are* expected to sing, Castle realizes, as they get to the first song and the priest asks them to stand again. His knees are starting to protest the repeated movement (<em>not old age<em>, he tells himself adamantly, just the lack of sleep) but he would never complain about it, not when it means Kate's long body so close to his, and the slow, skittish dance of their hands.

So he stands, glancing at the people on his left, noticing that they all have their programs open to the page of the song. Damn. In what he hopes is a smooth move, he bends backwards as much as he can, feels for their own copy, and retrieves it as gracefully as possible.

Kate is staring stoically ahead, but her close-lipped smile tells him that she didn't miss any of it.

Great. The song is starting now, so he flips quickly to the right page (after checking over his neighbor's shoulder where they're at), surveys the words and attempts to mouth them. Such a crowd, anyway: no one will be able to tell whether or not he's actually singing.

He holds the program so that Kate can see too, but after the first verse he cuts his eyes to her and realizes that she's not singing. She's not even pretending to. She's watching him, with that look in her eyes - halfway between amused and tender - and he feels his breath catch in his throat, the next words of the chorus instantly forgotten.

"You're not singing," he murmurs.

"I think you're doing a fine enough job for the two of us," she breathes back, a tease of a smile flickering on her lips.

He wants to kiss her, wipe the smirk off her laughing face.

"I think you're just embarrassed," he shoots back instead.

The woman next to Kate gives them a stern look before turning back to the priest. He obediently starts mouthing the words again, but Kate rolls her eyes at him, steps closer to get a better view of the music.

He feels her sway - the heels, maybe, or the lack of space - whatever the reason, he doesn't care so long as he gets to steady her with a hand at her elbow, feel the side of her collide into him.

And then she parts her lips and starts singing the chorus along with the rest of them, and his whole body thrums at the sound of her. Her beautiful voice hits all the right notes - there's *no way* she's hearing this song for the first time - and he watches her in stunned admiration, the lovely lines of her profile, the heart she pours into it.

She elbows him after a few seconds, and he's suddenly reminded that he still holds her arm, his palm cradling her elbow, his fingers curled around her warm skin.

He has no intention of letting go before the song is over.

"Stop staring," she orders before the last verse, something suspiciously like a smile dancing on her face. Joy flares in his stomach, bathes him with light and bright hope. Because she looks so comfortable with him, because she's not shaking his hand off her elbow, because she said...

_Maybe third time's the charm._

He doesn't doubt it will be. If it's with her.

Kate.

* * *

><p>She loves the look on Ryan's face, can't get enough of it. He's swimming in tears, of course, but they don't fall, stubborn man. Kate can practically feel Esposito's fierce machismo tunneling through the crowd to lend Ryan some extra amount of stoicism.<p>

She leans in to Castle again, catching sight of Ryan just before the priest turns them around to take the Host together. The wine and bread glitter in gold plates at the low table. She feels Castle turn his head slightly, his lips at her ear, breath hot as he speaks.

"What are they doing?" His voice is rich in her ear.

He seriously hasn't been to a mass before? "Communion-"

"Oh. They do that at weddings?" he murmurs, the sounds curling through her insides like a flame.

"Mm," she acknowledges, half-closing her eyes at the heat along her side, the heat building in her body.

"Huh," he huffs softly, and his head turns back to the wedding ceremony, the couple up front. Cool air rushes in to displace the feel of his warm breath, his almost-there lips.

Kate blinks and leans back, then bows her head with the congregation as the priest prays over the Eucharist.

Nothing will still inside her, nothing will bow down. She lifts her head slightly, an eye open, slides a glance over at Castle.

He's doing the same; his face breaks into a sly smile. Her heart pounds.

_Plus one._

Kate plus one equals. . .

More. More than she is now.

And isn't that the goal?

* * *

><p>Of course he knows what happens at mass. He's a writer; he's researched this before. Wikipedia can be quite helpful when it's not completely and mystifyingly wrong.<p>

He just wanted to touch his mouth to the shell of her ear, speak to her quietly so that only she could hear him.

It looks like it worked. She perhaps meant to lean back into her own space, but she's canted halfway into him, close and familiar, while her hand is hot in her own lap but still partially touching his thigh.

Whenever she's not paying attention, she bobs her foot up and down restlessly so that he feels the toe of her shoe, the strong tendons of her foot alternately touch the back of his knee. Over and over like a caress. There is no way he's moving his leg.

Jenny and Ryan stand after they take communion together; every pew has to stand with them as well. Another prayer, another chance to hold her gaze as they look at each other from under bowed heads, lowered lashes.

Her profile in this dress is just stunning, but what's more stunning is the fact that this isn't what he noticed first. What he noticed first about Kate Beckett was the joyful smile she gave him when she finally caught sight of him, and in that moment when he couldn't take his eyes off her gorgeous face, she came down that little step towards him with a light and effervescent appeal, fresh and familiar and pleased.

He keeps catching glimpses of that same look all through the wedding ceremony.

They move to sit down again and Castle realizes he's got her by the elbow, angling them into their seats, and then it's just a slow slide of his palm down the inside of her arm before his fingers circle around her wrist.

His index finger he leaves in the cradle of her palm, stroking the so-soft skin there, their arms clasped (not hands; he wouldn't hold her hand in a church, not yet).

After a moment, her fingers curl down around his index finger, the only part of him she can reach, but she shifts so that their hands are now in her lap, the heat of her body scorching his arm.

He has to take a slow, measured breath to keep it from getting to him.

Still. It gets to him. He doesn't move, doesn't try to brush his thumb along her skin, doesn't push for it. He's quite content to hold her by the wrist and have his arm held in the soft angle of her body.

* * *

><p>Her fingers have a mind of their own. It's not often that she notices them, grants them any special consideration - these long useful things that can curl around chopsticks, fire a gun, undo the clasp of the chain that holds her mother's ring - but today she has to.<p>

Because her fingers are very intent on sliding down into Rick Castle's hand and lacing with his own.

She tells them no, of course, vaguely shocked and somewhat indignant that they'd even think of it. But they're stubborn. They won't take no for an answer. And Castle's thumb is resting right on her wrist bone, not moving but warm and heavy all the same, and her fingers tingle, itching to make up for the lack of movement, to slide down that hand and have their palms kiss.

_No._

She forces her mind away from her treacherous hand, realizes that the priest is now pronouncing the nuptial blessing. Jenny is openly crying by now, but her tears only seem like a perfect counterpoint to the dazzling smile on her face.

"And now," the man says with a kind smile, "I invite all members of the assembly to follow the example of our lovely couple, Kevin and Jenny, and exchange a sign of peace with those immediately around them."

Ryan leans in and kisses his new wife on the lips, a sweet, delicate, intimate gesture, and Kate's heart trips in her chest. What was that? Follow the example - sign of peace - _what?_

She doesn't dare look at Castle, her palm suddenly slick with sweat, and anxiously turns her eyes to the other guests instead, more or less hoping that she's dreamed the part about _following the example of our lovely couple._

She hasn't. But the good news is, not everyone has suddenly started kissing. In fact, most people are shaking the hand of their neighbors, or kissing them on the cheek, murmuring, "Peace be with you."

A great exhale of relief escapes her as the woman sitting beside her gives her a smile and holds out a hand. "Peace be with you," she says as they shake, and Kate repeats the words, dazed, heart in her throat with gratitude.

A light squeeze on her wrist makes her turn, but she's not afraid anymore. She's fine, she can do it; she's already offering her right hand when Castle leans in, his scent, his heat invading her space, leaving her breathless. His lips brush her temple, then down to her jaw, before finally pressing against her cheek.

It's not the corner of her mouth, but it's not that far either. Right in the middle.

His mouth stays there for a beat longer than it should, warm and tender, delicious against her skin. She sucks in a shaky breath, drowns in it, her blood too loud in her temples, and she's not - she's not thinking - she _wants_ -

Castle moves away, his blue eyes shimmering, meaning and emotion staring at her.

"Peace be with you," he rasps, his voice this deep, attractive rumble that makes her wish she were in a bed with him.

Peace is certainly *not* the right word for the state she's in.

She doesn't manage to summon the words to say it back; all she can do is swallow heavily, and try to calm the wild pounding of her heart.

People are moving around them, standing up (is it over?) and Castle stands too, takes her with him (she doesn't remember lacing their hands together, but it must have happened at some point, because now they're clasped, palm to palm, as he slowly leads her outside - those treacherous fingers).

Strangely enough, it's the sound of the crowd, the loud wishes that drown out the joyful chatter, the laughter and the hugging, that bring Kate back to herself, help her find her balance again.

They meet up with Lanie and Esposito outside (both of them beaming: they must have followed Ryan and Jenny's example to the letter) and suddenly, her hand is free.

She parts her lips, thinks better of it, closes her mouth.

And she keeps her eyes averted from Castle's.

She is *not* disappointed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Plus One**

co-authored by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>"Did they really ditch their dates?" he asks her, delighted for many reasons, but chief among them is the idea that Esposito and Lanie have abandoned their plus-ones to ride to the reception dinner together.<p>

"They did," Kate grins back at him, leaning over to toss her camera through the open door and onto the seat. He hands her into the car, delighted by this too. That she accepted riding over with him. Castle nods to the driver and gets in after her, unable to keep his eyes off the sharp points of her knees, the length of her thigh, the definition of her calves as her shoes push-

He clears his throat, tries to redirect his eyes, finds her smirking at him. Oh she knows perfectly well. And she only lifts an eyebrow at him.

He sighs. "You're not giving me permission for that now too, are you? Because you're taking all the fun out of it, Beckett."

Well, that's not true. The fun is there, even when he's been caught looking.

She only shakes her head, not really an answer, and he can practically feel her laughing inside.

"That was a nice ceremony," he says, trying to keep the pedantic conversation going. The safe conversation.

"Mm," she murmurs, her head angled towards the window. The car is snaking through the wedding guest traffic, attempting to make it back onto the avenue.

"Kinda long," he says. Then mentally adds, _That's what she said._ Because he can't help it. Her legs make him start thinking like this. And the narrow sculpture of her waist on those hips. And the fall of her hair over her shoulders. And - okay, and really her whole body.

And in that dress. This dress. Damn.

He clears his throat, tries to think of something innocuous. "Which entree did you ask for?" The card that came with the invitation had a choice between three different meats. "Cause Alexis chose chicken, and I chose steak, and now I'm wondering if I can eat Alexis's dinner too. I'm starving."

Kate bubbles up with a laugh. He turns his head and is struck by the tender joy diffused across her face. As if she finds him not only amusing, but also precious. God, it's giving him chills. He hopes his brain is working, memorizing this, because he wants to dream about this, wants to slide this into his fantasies.

Lately his fantasies have been so G-rated it's pathetic. And yet they give him the most satisfaction, the strongest sense of rightness and good, than the steamy scenes of Beckett in a sweater dress speaking Russian, or Beckett with her heel on a man's wrist and her gun cocked and ready.

Uh-huh. Those are good.

But these are better. Kate turning that dazzling smile on him as he hands her coffee, the two of them alone in the precinct, she steps closer, their chests nearly touch, she's raising her hand and-

"I had chicken, but you can eat some of mine if they won't feed you enough, Castle."

Feed you. . .oh. Right. "What a good partner," he gushes, giving her a cheesy grin. "Sharing your dinner with me."

She reaches over and thumps his shoulder. "I share my dinner with you all the time. And lunch. And even my coffee when you're being annoying."

Yeah, she does do that. Let's him have the dregs while he goes and makes her another cup. Mm, the cold last swallow of coffee that Kate Beckett has had her mouth and tongue all over-?

None of these bland questions are quite working out how he would like. Instead of calming him down, they're only riling him up.

"Oh, hey. Here we are. That was fast," Kate says, and he swears there's disappointment in her voice.

He's not disappointed; he needs to get control of himself again. Preferably not in an enclosed space, where the very air smells of Kate, tastes of her. Not that he knows what she tastes like - except for that undercover kiss, and mostly that was mint and adrenaline, the spike of heightened awareness as they approached the guard.

Kate opens the door when the car comes to a halt at the drop-off in front of the hotel. Castle opens his as well, sighs as he gets another long, lingering look at her legs as she exits the car.

He's in for the best, worst night of his life.

* * *

><p>Castle looks a little - flustered - as they make their way inside the hotel. Kate ducks her head, hiding her smile, and slides a hand into her purse to make sure she still has her camera.<p>

She wants memories of tonight. She needs them, needs the joy, the light that surrounds Jenny and Ryan, the tentative reconciliation between Lanie and Esposito. And of course - the man at her side.

She can't remember the last time she saw Castle smile so much, his grin so wide that his face seems about to crack open with it, eyes crinkled with such happiness that you can barely tell their color anymore. And what it does to her, his delight, his exuberance -

She doesn't have the words for it. Doesn't have words for the way her insides lift in response, for the way everything in her opens up, brimming with anticipation, so eager for the light. Like a flower that's been shut in the dark for too long, and suddenly the door opens, sunlight pouring in.

Yes, she needs memories of this moment. For when she's back in darkness again.

With a deep breath, she forces the thought back, and in two quick strides she catches up with Castle, slides her hand inside his elbow. Her anchor. She likes the touching that they have going on, light and unassuming, because she doesn't want to assume. Doesn't want to make him think -

He deserves better than this.

When he feels her fingers on his arm, he gives her a look that's equal parts surprise and soft pleasure, and she smiles at him, unwilling to break the moment with words, conscious of the way her heart bolts every time his eyes meet hers, that wealth of tenderness in them.

She releases a slow breath, tears her gaze away.

The hotel lobby is spacious, and elegant without being over-the-top; it doesn't scream luxury, and Kate likes that. One of the bridesmaids shows them inside the ballroom where the reception is held; there's already a considerable number of people there, but no Ryan and Jenny yet, as far as she can tell.

The green and white theme suits the room, Kate thinks as she looks around. It gives it a freshness, a brightness that it wouldn't have otherwise. Another ballroom - the dining space, probably - opens at the end of this one; if she cranes her neck, she can catch a glimpse of tables that confirms her theory.

"Nice, huh?" Castle comments, having obviously completed his own appraisal of the place. "I quite like it."

"You might want to sound a little less surprised when you say that to Ryan and Jenny," Kate replies, not trying to hide her smirk.

"Oh, no - I didn't mean -" he narrows his eyes at her when she grins (he's rather adorable when he's embarrassed) and finishes in a dignified voice, "that was me being impressed, Beckett. Not surprised."

"Uh-huh," she says, and in a different setting - at a different time - she might bite her lip to keep herself from laughing, but not tonight.

"You must be Detective Beckett," a friendly voice says on her right. Kate whirls around, meets a pair of blue eyes that looks strangely familiar, even though the dark blonde hair, the heart-shaped face and the bright smile aren't.

"And Richard Castle," the woman adds, her eyes traveling to the writer, her cheeks flushing lightly. A fan, then. Kate can't blame her. "I'm Colleen, Kevin's older sister."

Oh. That explains the blue eyes.

"Please, call me Kate," she asks as they shake hands, and she sees a flash of pleasure in the older woman's eyes. Not so much older - just a few years, the detective thinks.

"I must say, it's really exciting to meet you two. Kevin's talked so much about you, and of course we've all read the Heat books, so - you know."

"Oh, don't believe a word they say," Kate laughs, cutting her eyes to her partner. "Castle here has a...vivid imagination."

"I," he starts vibrantly, all puffed up and ready to defend himself, before he pauses, lets the air out. "Have to admit that she's right," he finishes on a smile, winking at Colleen. Kate shakes her head, grins, amused at how well he played her.

Ryan's sister looks like she's about to faint. Or burst into a fit of giggles.

"Excuse me for a minute," Castle says suddenly, disappearing before Kate has time to even say a word. She tries to keep an eye on him, curious to know where he's going in such a hurry, but there are too many people in the room, too many tall guys dressed in black tuxes - she loses sight of him after a few seconds.

Well. Thanks for the support, Rick.

She has to admit, at least his absence has the welcome side-effect of allowing Colleen to relax. The woman's whole body loosens up, and from there it's much easier to get a conversation going.

She learns that Colleen is a lawyer, but is on a maternity leave right now - gave birth to a little boy a month ago. Kate remembers Ryan telling them that he was an uncle again, and feels a new admiration for the woman's flawless figure.

She can only hope that she -

Thank god, Castle comes back and interrupts before she can finish that thought, and a second later Colleen gets called away by one of the guests.

"Done," he whispers to Kate, his lips entirely too close to her ear. The shiver that runs through her reminds her of the wedding ceremony, of the glances sneaked during prayers, and her stomach flips.

"What have you done, Castle?" she asks suspiciously, trying to gather herself, to keep up that light, teasing thing they've got going.

"Just switched your place card with Alexis's, and saved you from a terrible fate," he answers, grinning and obviously very satisfied with himself. "No one even saw me. Swift as an arrow, like a bolt from the blue -"

"Yeah, Castle, I got it, thanks."

She's tempted to roll her eyes at him, but there's an eagerness to please at the back of his look, a puppy-like quality hidden behind the surface pride, and she finds herself brushing her fingers against the sleeve of his jacket, giving him a light squeeze.

"What a good partner," she says, not sure if she's joking or serious, but unable to fight back the smile that wants to blossom on her face.

He only grins back, but his childishness is belied by the solemn look in his blue eyes.

Oh.

He sees too much.

* * *

><p>Castle honestly expected her to shake him off the moment they got to the reception. Not in a bad way, but in that same methodical, room-clearing, detective way. She would do her side of the room, he would do his.<p>

But it's not happened like that so far. The guests are all waiting on the bride and groom to arrive (he thinks they had pictures? but no, there was a bridesmaid here to show them in), and they all mill about in the grand ballroom.

"I'm starving," Kate says suddenly, right at his elbow again. She peers around his shoulder towards the connected room where the tables are set up. "You've been in there. You do any reconaissance?"

"What do you take me for?" he grins. "I'm starving too, remember? Head tables, three of them, on the east side, and then round tables for us lowly peons. They've already started setting out water and tea on the tables, bread baskets. Haven't served the plated food yet."

She sighs. "So we've still got some time."

"But there's bread," he says, raising his eyebrow at her.

"There's bread," she murmurs, and lifts her eyes to him, looking both scandalized and thrilled at the same time.

"Kate?" He's willing to take her lead on this.

"Bread. I. . .yes." She casts a delighted, excited smile his way. "Let's go."

Kate grabs his arm and starts threading them through the crowd of guests, smiling when someone catches their gaze, putting off those that try to stop them. He steers her away from Lanie and Esposito; she glances over her shoulder at him in askance.

"I'm not sharing my bread with them. Remember what Esposito said? It's every man for himself in prison."

She laughs, so bright and beautiful that his chest aches. It's probably a good thing he can only see her face in profile as they move through the room. Otherwise his heart might have stopped.

He nearly runs into her back, not paying attention, stops himself just in time, his hands at her hips, her shoulders brushing his chest. She half-turns, lifts her hand to wrap her fingers around his tie.

It's got to be an unconscious gesture. She doesn't seem to notice what she's done, and her extraordinarily high heels have her right at eye level. Mouth level.

"Okay, we need a plan," she murmurs. He notices that they're only a foot away from the wide connecting archway to the dining room, but still on the fringes of the crowd. They won't attract notice this way.

"Go in. Stuff a few rolls down our pants. Get out," he says. "Simple."

She draws back, lets her eyes travel down his suit and then glances at herself, down her body, inviting his eyes to follow. Form-fitting, sleek, elegant, all curves and legs-

"You see any place for me to stuff a roll?"

Oh dirty, dirty Beckett. He narrows his eyes at her, meets her gaze head on, but he can't think of a single thing to say back.

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought. A plan, Castle. A good one."

She's leaving this up to him?

Castle glances away from her, towards the dining room, debates the wisdom of stealing food-

Her stomach growls. Loudly. He laughs and glances down at her stomach, travels back up to her eyes. (Any excuse to trail his eyes up her body). "Beckett. How uncouth."

"Feed me, Castle."

Yes, right. Feed her. Be a man, Rick. Step up.

* * *

><p>Her eyes are on his profile as he studies the dining room, brow knit together, blue eyes shining in reflection. A small smile tugs at her lips and she presses her mouth together, splaying a hand on her belly to try and stifle any unwanted sounds.<p>

Damn, she's _starved._ She woke up inordinately late this morning, had a solid breakfast - one her mom would have endorsed - but that was at noon, and now it's nearing seven, and the thought of a bread roll is enough to make her legs tremble.

"Hurry up. My stomach is eating itself."

"Alright, alright," Castle murmurs, stepping closer, eyes still intent on the busy ballet of the catering people, waltzing in and out of the kitchen. "I might have something."

A very different kind of want erupts in her stomach at the nearness of him, the shaved smoothness of his jaw within kissing distance, but she shrugs that off, concentrates. Food. Food is what she needs.

"I'm waiting, Castle."

"Okay. So, obviously, that door they're all rushing through leads to the kitchen, right?" He doesn't wait for her nod to go on. "But see, that other one? I've only seen a handful of them use it. So I'm thinking, maybe it's a way out. Maybe there's a courtyard or something, a back entrance."

"And?" Kate pushes, unable to quell her impatience.

"And," he says, giving her a pointed look, "we might be able to hide there once we have the rolls. Unless you want the whole crowd to know we're stealing food at a wedding, of course. Cause then we can eat here, sure."

She glares at him. "It's not stealing if we are supposed to eat them anyway," she hisses. "But a hiding place to eat those rolls is good. Now, any idea on how we get them?"

"I'm still working on that," he says defensively, his hands half raised as if to ward her off. "Jeez. You never get this nasty when you skip lunch at the precinct."

"Because I'm *working* then, Castle. I'm busy. I don't have time to listen to the unhappy lament of my empty stomach."

A smile crosses his face, the boyish look in his eyes so adorable that she wants to hit him and kiss him at the same time.

"Unhappy lament, huh? My, my, detective. Hunger is making you quite the poet."

"Castle," she growls, teeth bared, her fingers clawing on the fabric of her dress to muffle the impatient noise of her stomach.

This is _not_ a joke -

"Okay, okay," he hastens to answer, throwing himself back a little, clearly afraid of what she could do to him. And rightly so. "Well, you know what? Let's just go in there, pretend we got lost, ask for the bathroom. Infallible plan."

"Castle, wait, no -"

But he's already laced his fingers with hers - wait, _what?_ - and he takes advantage of her confusion to drag her inside after him, before she can protest any further.

He strides confidently through the room, and she has to give it to him, they've almost made it to the head tables when someone thinks of stopping them.

"Um, sir? Miss? If you could wait in the ballroom," a twenty-something waiter tells them, a hesitant smile on his freckled face.

Castle whirls around, throwing off her balance - she staggers, has to catch herself on his shoulder. She suspects that he did it on purpose. Bastard. "Follow my lead, Kate."

He turns back around. "Sorry," he apologizes to the guy, a profusely honest smile on his face. "We don't meant to bother you, but we're looking for somewhere private. An alcove. . .or a bathroom? That would work. It's. . .urgent." He leans in a little, gesturing for the waiter to do the same. "See, my wife here," he whispers in the way of confidence, nodding to Kate, "she's insistent. If you know what I mean. Any chance you could show us to the nearest bathroom? With stalls that lock."

He did not.

He did _not._

Follow his lead, he said.

Oh you are going to get it, Richard Castle.

Kate lets her eyes glitter with all the things she pushed down during the wedding, then slides up to Castle's back, so close, the heat between them rising exponentially. She feels the shiver he can't control, slides a hand under his jacket to his waist, fingers hooking in his belt, then gives the waiter a long, knowing look over Castle's shoulder.

It's all she has to do.

The young man blushes deeply, his eyes suddenly riveted to his feet, and Kate feels her own cheeks burning. Richard Castle is a dead man for this. (Even though this is so very fun. She loves the way the backs of her fingers brush his side and make his skin quiver.)

"Uh. S-sure," the waiter stutters, wrenching his gaze from the floor and glancing nervously at Castle, his eyes darting away when they fall on Kate. He's an interesting shade of red now; the detective herself feels a little like laughing, breathless yes, but laughing all the same.

He points his finger to the door that Castle assumed led to a courtyard.

"Just, go through that door, and go up the first flight of stairs. Bathroom is first on your left," he says, the last words almost incomprehensible because he's speaking so fast.

"Thanks, man," her partner says with a wide grin, and he pushes it as far as to clap the waiter's shoulder in gratitude. "You've made my day."

The waiter opens his mouth, closes it, and then hastily retreats to the kitchen. Not wasting a moment, Castle links his arm with Kate's, directs them to said door. They have to skirt one of the tables to get to it, and in a smooth move, he snatches the basket of bread, cradling it to his chest so that no one can tell from behind.

"They'll think they forgot the basket on that one," he breathes into her ear. Kate looks over her shoulder, certain that someone must have seen that, but no: all the catering team is so busy, no one is even glancing in their direction.

And then they're through the door, running up the stairs, hand in hand, laughing breathlessly like two terrible children. Instead of turning left towards the bathroom on the second floor, Castle keeps going, putting another flight of stairs between them and the catering people.

Then he lets go of her hand and sits on the steps, gesturing for her to follow. His face is bright with the same exhilarated triumph that she feels dancing inside her.

She waits until she can breathe normally to arch an eyebrow at him.

"Your wife wants somewhere private, Castle?"

"At least I made an honest woman out of you."

She narrows her eyes at him, but that insane, thrilled grin is cracking through; her glare doesn't even phase him.

"Hey, I got you your bread, didn't I?"

Hmm. She can't refute that. And speaking about bread -

She reaches into the basket and revels in the feel of her fingers closing around the soft crust, before she eagerly bites into the roll.

_Oh._ Food.

She does manage to keep her delighted moan in check, but she leans back against the wall, her control faltering as she swallows, her eyes closing in spite of herself.

When she opens them again, of course, he's grinning at her. And there's no way she can get a scold on her face, not with those crinkled eyes, not with the way his adam's apple works as he swallows - makes her want to press her mouth to that spot, see if it's as smooth as it looks.

"You're welcome," he says cheekily, wiggling an eyebrow.

She says nothing, regards him with the most serene expression that she can gather.

But the next moan? She's *so* letting it free.

* * *

><p>She leans against the wall across from him, licking a crumb from the corner of her mouth, her eyes on the bread she's pulling apart in her hands. Castle can smell the rich scent of the rolls and the tang of her perfume; he wants to taste the butter he can see shining on her lips; he wants to touch her neck with his tongue and see if he can find the spot where she dabbed on her perfume.<p>

Really not a good idea to think these thoughts in an enclosed stairwell with her knees pressing against his thigh. With the way her hand brushes his against the basket, both holding it between them. With the way that same hand sometimes drops to his upper thigh and rests there, careless and unconcerned.

And even though he wants to touch her, more than just brushes of their hands, he's strangely at peace with this moment.

It's good. It's healing. He didn't know he needed it, but he did.

"We should probably head back," she grimaces, brushing a thumb along her bottom lip, the roll curled in her fingers.

Castle makes an exaggerated motion of looking at his phone, narrows an eye at it. "No way, Beckett. It's only been six minutes. My manhood is at stake here."

She bursts into laughter, her eyes flaring with pleasure and maybe, just maybe, a spark of arousal as well. He'll take it. But honestly, the laughter is better. The laughter makes him feel good, like he's doing something right.

"So what's an acceptable time, Castle?"

He raises an eyebrow, looks her up and down. "Are you seriously asking my *number*?" he mimics, knowing she'll get it, she'll know.

Her mouth parts in startled amusement, not laughing at this, but maybe because she's stunned. Or breathless. And then she gets a clever, sly look in her eyes and grins. "No. I'm asking what your wife's number would be."

His wife's number would be? His wife-

Oh, hell, Kate.

Is she asking - _How many times?_

She's smirking; she totally knows she's scored on that one, and he can't even form words, can't even look away from the self-satisfied, pleased look on her face because he wonders if that's also the look she has in bed, after one of those times - and, yes, there will be more than one-

Gotta stop this.

Have to stop.

But first-

"As high as you like, Kate."

Point for Castle.

* * *

><p>No doubt about it. She is in serious trouble.<p>

And she doesn't even care.

Now that she's pretty certain her legs will hold her again, Kate clatters back down the stairs, her heels slapping each step because she still doesn't quite have the presence of mind, the control over her body, to keep her shoes from making noise.

"Jeez, you're making enough racket to wake the dead," he mutters, and his hand slides down the outside of her arm as if he knows.

He must know.

What it's doing to her.

He's behind her on the stairs, right at her back, and she has to watch every step as she goes just to keep from tumbling. Her ankles are weak, as if she's never walked in heels before, as if they really have gone to the bathroom on the second floor and _how many times_-

No, no. Not a good time for this.

She gets to the landing, pauses a moment to let him pass her on the stairs. She sees the look he shoots her, as if he's worried about this now, so Kate snags his elbow as she follows him down, just to. . .to reassure him.

And maybe to help hold herself up.

"This long enough time to save your reputation?" she murmurs. She has no idea what time it is now, only that they've been laughing in the stairwell for entirely too long and that the rolls are gone.

"Mm," he murmurs. He doesn't take the opportunity to make another comment and she wonders if that means he's as scrambled and breathless and - and _hot_ inside as she is.

He leaves the basket on the floor in front of the stairwell door; someone who works for the catering company will see it eventually, right? And think it got overlooked. Kate walks steadily beside him, feels her chest brush the back of his arm when he stops suddenly.

"What?" she whispers.

"The door was. . .right by the head tables, Kate."

"Oh."

"If they've already seated everyone, then we're going to be walking right in front-"

"Oh no." She shakes her head at him and squeezes his elbow. "No. Find another way around, Castle."

"Me?" he squeaks, widening his eyes at her. That helps. Oh good, thank you. That helps bring her equilibrium back, a sense of familiar balance.

"You. This was your brilliant plan. Hide and eat-"

"You were the hungry one. And it's your turn to think of a plan."

She narrows her eyes at him, glances down the hallway. She can see a few catering staff looking their way, but they're too busy to really stop and ask questions.

She peers around Castle towards the other end of the hall, past the stairs, to the white door there. A fire exit with a push bar and a warning sign that an alarm will sound. No good.

"Okay. We have to go back upstairs, get off on the second floor, take the elevator back down to the lobby, and then-"

"Come in the back. Late," he finishes, nodding. "Good plan."

She nods back, reaches down for his hand, twining her fingers with his and pulling him back to the stairwell door. She shouldn't, she really shouldn't hold his hand when they've just spent the last fifteen minutes in a kind of verbal foreplay, but she can't help herself.

She loves the feel of his hand enveloping hers, loves how the slightest bit of distance will tug on their linked palms and bring him hurrying closer, right at her side.

Where he should be.


	3. Chapter 3

He's relieved and disappointed at the same time that they have company in the elevator.

He made some promises to himself before tonight: he's not going to push, he's not even going to cross the line - he can flirt a little, however much she'll let him get away with, but he is mostly supposed to follow Beckett's lead. Toe the line.

The thing is, he's not sure Kate herself knows what she wants here. He's still cradling her hand in his, enjoying every brush of skin against skin, and she's still smiling - that awfully sexy little grin that makes his blood boil. And if *he* has to be the reasonable one, the one to keep them in check -

Oh, man.

The doors glide open and they step out first, quickly making their way through the lobby and into the ballroom.

Yeah. Of course, everyone is seated by now, and they'll have to bear the stigma of being late. Not that Castle cares much, because really, he can still hear Kate's beautiful laugh resounding in his ears, and feel the press of her thigh against his, and it's worth being late.

It's worth so much more than that.

But that doesn't mean he's very comfortable when he sits down at the table, finds two pairs of eyes staring at him with blatant interest. He sneaks a glance at Kate; she isn't blushing, but there's a definite hint of embarrassment in her eyes.

At least the entrees haven't been served yet. He wants that steak.

"Sooo." Lanie Parish is looking at them, and that _cat that ate the canary_ phrase has never made more sense. "You two wanna explain where you were? Cause I happened to talk to Ryan's sister, Colleen, and she swore she had seen you at the beginning of the reception. My guess is that you must have gotten lost in the absolute *maze* that is this hotel."

The sarcasm latent in the ME's voice makes Kate stiffen her spine so that her shoulder accidentally brushes against his; he tries to control his reaction, looks at her as if it will help. Her green eyes are narrow slits, flashing that cold, *not here* look that he's seen directed at himself a couple times.

Okay, too many times to count.

Lanie only smiles. To be honest, the rest of the table is engaged in a discussion over red wine (_can South American wine really compete with the French?_ seems to be the fascinating topic) and is not paying much attention to them, which means she's certainly not going to stop now.

Castle suddenly regrets not switching Esposito and Lanie's place cards with someone else's.

"Or maybe," the ME suggests, a sly look in her eyes, "you forgot something in the car and had to go back. Although, if _that_ were the case, then we'd be tempted to wonder what else you might have done in the car, that would have taken so long."

His insides twist eagerly at Lanie's insinuation, only wishing it was true; a faint sound of need vibrates in the air, inaudible to anyone but him. It takes him a shocked second to realize that if it's not him, then it has to be -

"Lanie," Kate warns between gritted teeth.

The ME is braver than Castle; he would duck for cover if that growl was intended for him, but Lanie holds her ground, her finely-shaped eyebrows reaching new heights.

Esposito, on the other hand, has lost interest. He gave them a good stare at first, but he must not have found any evidence on their faces; he's now reaching for the bread basket, which makes Castle's lips twitch nervously.

"Oh, man," he complains when he comes back empty-handed. "How is there no bread left? *I* didn't eat any. You, babe?"

"No," Lanie says calmly, her eyes not leaving Kate's. "Me neither."

Esposito's other neighbor, a woman in her fifties, seems moved by his desolation and abandons the wine conversation long enough to explain, "One of the head tables was missing a bread basket, apparently, so Ryan's sister came to ask if she could take some of ours."

Knowing the reason obviously does not make the Hispanic detective any happier, but Castle, despite his best efforts, cannot help the silent laugh that shakes him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Kate struggling too, her lips pressed into a tight line, her brow knit with the effort of holding back; she elbows him as a much-combatted smile stretches her lips.

Lanie looks from one to the other, clearly miffed that she's missing something. Then she looks at the empty basket, and understanding lights her eyes. Along with a vague sense of disappointment.

"Don't tell me," she starts, her tone disbelieving.

Rick nods, wiping the tear that threatens - too much laughing - as he feels Kate shrug at his side.

"Seriously?" Lanie says. "You know there were appetizers at the reception, right?"

That sobers him up. He opens wide, indignant eyes. "What? We didn't see that!"

Esposito snickers, and the writer glares at him, pointing over at Kate.

"She was hungry. Trust me, you cannot judge me if you haven't dealt with a hungry Beckett before."

He can almost _feel_ Kate roll her eyes, but at least Esposito backs off. That leaves Lanie and her mocking face staring at them.

"You two couldn't wait for the appetizers, so you decided to steal some rolls and then hid away to eat them. Is that right?"

"Shhh," Castle urges, putting a finger to his lips in the universal plea for silence, theatrically glancing around to make sure no one heard.

Kate sighs, shoves his shoulder. "Let it go, Castle." And she firmly stares back into her friend's eyes. "Yes. We stole bread from the wedding tables because we were hungry. So?"

Lanie shrugs, the movement nonchalant, a little too studied. "So, nothing."

"Fine, then."

"Fine."

"Oh, look, they're bringing the entrees," Esposito intervenes in a cheerful voice.

Castle's stomach, despite the bread, greets this announcement rather enthusiastically, and he peers at the next table, anxious to see what the steak looks like, and to escape the heavy atmosphere that surrounds him.

One thing is sure, he thinks as he settles back. Tonight is absolutely not going like he expected.

* * *

><p>"Oh no," she breathes and turns to him.<p>

He glances at her, eyebrows knitting together.

"Castle," she hisses, grabbing his thigh and jerking her head towards where the server for their table is making his way over.

Castle breaks into a wide grin and laughs. "Ah, well. A sign from the universe?"

She lets out a soft moan and avoids looking at their waiter.

Their waiter who knows them.

Fortunately, he seems intent on his task, settling the plated entrees in front of the women first, starting with Lanie. He moves around the table and comes to Kate and she can practically feel the young man's burning blush; he falters, her plate clunks to the table, and then he leans in close, between her and Castle, his voice a poorly-staged whisper.

"Ah, I've already served the salads, but if you're still hungry after the entree. . ." The man trails off, lifts his head a little, but he won't look at Kate.

Castle pats him on the back, gives him a nice, gentle smile. "Don't worry about it. I don't think a salad would really help. We'll just start from here. Fill up on. . .rolls."

Oh, no. No. He's just making it worse-

The waiter nods his head and backs up, his face still flaming red, and Kate finds Lanie's eyes on the waiter, on Castle, narrowed and suspicious.

And then the kid speaks.

"I hope you and your wife found the bathrooms all right?"

Lanie's head jerks back to Kate. "Wife? Bathrooms?"

Oh jeez.

* * *

><p>Castle shoots a sharp look to Kate, but most of the fierce embarrassment has left her cheeks, although her eyes are still that stunned and illuminous brown. She looks a little out of it, and she's eating her chicken slowly, but that could be because of all the rolls they've already eaten.<p>

Esposito has asked him twice, point-blank, if he and his wife need a bathroom break. Kate only glares. The narrowed eyes, the deadly look, the fork that she jabs his direction - it's all offset by the flush of her cheeks and the fact that she still, still, has her hand on his thigh.

He's not sure she's noticed. He thought, at first, it's because she was trying to hide her ring-less left finger to maintain their cover story, but now that they're halfway through the entree, Castle isn't so sure.

It could be that she doesn't want to be surprised by the kid when he comes back to refill their tea or water glasses. That is an entirely plausible excuse.

Sounds like the kind of excuse *he* would make though. Not the logical, well-thought-out, entirely rational reason that Kate would use for keeping her hand on his thigh.

But seriously. He is so not going to mention it.

Dessert is served the moment the plates are cleared; they both flip their cups upright for coffee and wait to dig in until it's poured. The cheesecake waits patiently, although Kate does not. When they do get coffee, they both grab their cups. Rich with a hint of cocoa, he lets himself get lost in its brown depths, breathing it in.

"You two need to be alone?" Esposito jokes, giving him a deadly stare over the rim.

"I like coffee," Castle defends himself with a whine.

"Honey, he ain't talking about the coffee." Lanie hums at him and tilts her head to Kate.

Castle glances over and finds her cradling the cup much like he is, the two of them mirror images in their reaction. (Mirrored because her left hand is *still* on his thigh and his right is down at his side, twitching, waiting for a moment that will never come - the moment when he can return the favor.)

Coffee. Sign from the universe, for sure.

Kate is glaring at Lanie so hard, Castle's sure her eyes are going burn a hole through something, catch someone's dress on fire. She doesn't release her coffee though, and her fingers squeeze his leg when she leans forward.

"Eat your dessert, Lanie."

Lanie glances down at her already empty plate; Castle and Beckett are the only two who haven't eaten a bite because they wanted coffee first. Lanie glances back up to Kate with a suspicious expression. She knows Kate's gotten her back, but she doesn't know how.

Castle knows, and he mimics Lainie's voice as he says, "Honey, she ain't talk about the cheesecake." He throws an aggressive look at Esposito.

Espo might actually be blushing.

Kate's thumb brushes his thigh; when he looks at her, she's grinning.

Partners.

* * *

><p>"Amaretto?" Kate murmurs, raising an eyebrow at him when comes back to their table with drinks.<p>

"Disaronno," he nods, offering it to her. She takes it gingerly and holds it under her nose, then takes a sip, finds it pleasantly, sweetly bitter. Those Italians. Lovely stuff.

The open bar at the back of the room has lifted the formal stiffness that fell over the wedding party as they ate dinner in the dining room. Through the archway, Kate can see a younger crowd already up and dancing to the DJ's mix - something about keeping your hands up - and she knows the voice singing is familiar but-

"Oh jeez, no." Castle slumps back down in his seat. Apparently, he was listening to the music as well. "I am not dancing to Miley Cyrus. Who chose this? I bet it was Ryan."

"Sounds like Honeymilk," Esposito calls out.

Lanie is dragging him after her towards the ballroom side of the reception; Javier tosses off a salute at Kate and she laughs after them. Someone doesn't mind dancing to Miley.

Forget it. Either Castle is only looking for an excuse to keep sitting beside her because he thinks she won't dance, or he has some traumatic event associated with a Miley Cyrus song - but regardless, regardless, he is going to dance with her. Now.

Kate knocks back the rest of the amaretto and squeezes his knee to get his attention. "Too bad, Castle. You *are* dancing to Miley Cyrus."

She wraps her fingers around his tie, leaning in close, knowing he can smell the drink, her perfume, and then she tugs him forward, standing as she does. Castle kinda crashes into her, hands on her hips to keep from toppling over, the full, hard length of his body pressed to hers.

She likes it. She really likes it. She needs another amaretto, and she needs those hands on her hips while Miley sing-squeaks _party like there ain't no curfew._

Yes, let's do that.

She doesn't even need to lead him by his tie because he's already crowding into her back as she moves towards the ballroom, leaving behind the very old and the very young - though even most of the flower girls and ring bearers and little cousins have scrambled from the stuffy tables towards the fun on the floor as well.

She likes to dance. She likes to watch him watch her dance. The dress is tight, the alcohol hasn't even buzzed her yet, but she wants to dance. With him.

It seems to be a kind of group thing, everyone loose and having fun and trying not to pop buttons or split seams; she and Castle don't manage to stay together but it's okay, she can always see him, he's looking her way, and the dancers are all kinds, moving and massing from side to side. She ends up back to back with Lanie at one point and Esposito is yelling something into Castle's ear above the music thumping wildly through the floor, and poor Javi, he's Latin but he looks like he's going for finger-snapping tonight, and most of them are singing along to Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock, freestyle rapping when they don't know the words _it takes two to make a thing go right, it takes two baby you're outta sight?_, Castle staring at her, mystified, and is he taking her picture with his phone?

Everything shifts in an instant and the DJ has been replaced by a band doing a set of wedding songs - friends of the bride's brother. As the introduction of Kevin and Jenny for their official song goes out, they all get cleared off the floor, hanging around the edges while the newlyweds dance, slow and swaying and whispering things to each other with wide smiles and Kate-

can't take this.

She turns her head, body twisting to escape the press of the crowd awaiting their turn again, the music crooning _You look wonderful tonight_ but her head pounding, her blood like a waterfall in her ears.

Kate slips between two people wrapped around each other, sidesteps the little flower girl waiting for another ride on her father's shoes, heads for the tables, another drink maybe, and-

Castle catches her arm and the force of her escape swings her back around, thumping into his chest. She laughs, breathless still from dancing, stomach and palms and neck still damp with it, and Castle leans in and his lips are even with her mouth because of these shoes-

"Where you going?" he murmurs, his voice rich and textured with an hour on the dance floor keeping her in sight. He doesn't even need to speak any louder than that, because she tunes in to that frequency without any effort, can hear him even if the bass were rattling the walls.

_I feel wonderful tonight_ threads through the room and vibrates under her skin.

"Drink," she says, the only answer she can give. She can't say _I want someone to whisper in my ear while we dance close and forget how the whole world is watching._

Someone? Right. She knows who she wants.

"Drink? Let's go," he says, and his hand slips down to hers and tugs her back to the bar. "Disaronno." He holds up two fingers and the drinks are in front of them before she can even suggest something else, anything else, and then she realizes that her first choice is probably tequila, and *that* is not a statement she wants to be making tonight.

So she drinks the amaretto, nursing it a little to avoid going back over to the ballroom and seeing the two of them, blonde and beautiful and in love. Because it's amazing, and amazing has a way of hurting her heart these days.

"Where's your camera?" he asks.

She gestures back towards their abandoned table. "But I got some great ones during dinner."

"We should pass it around when they let us all back on the dance floor. See what kind of shots you get."

She lifts the corner of her mouth in a smile at him because, yeah, that sounds. . .amazing. And it doesn't even hurt.

"Great idea, Castle."

"It's been known to happen."

He grins at her over his drink and she grins back, glad for easy, grateful for familiar, and still quite aware of how thrillingly new this is, how tantalizing and different for them. She leans back against the bar, her shoulder touching his, absorbing the slow dance music and the dim lights and the way little white stars are projected all over the ballroom ceiling, turning and twisting slowly as if coming ever closer.

Close enough to touch.

Maybe even tonight.

* * *

><p>Castle is alternating between these strange moments of heightened awareness - like now, his body absorbing the warmth of Kate's arm against his, the flirting of their hips as she unconsciously sways to the music, the clear line of her profile, so close - and a blissful, befuddled state that is not unlike being high. Or drunk.<p>

Except he's neither.

Well, okay, he's had some Amaretto, but not enough to give him more than a buzz, and by now he's probably danced off most of it. Which is why they're drinking more, he thinks, a sly smile on his lips.

He wants to see her dance again.

He cannot get enough of Kate Beckett's dancing.

Because watching her move - watching the supple line of her body in that stunning dress, the curl of her hair on her shoulders, the way she occasionally gathers it up in her hands, as if to let her neck breathe -

He wants, so badly, to kiss it. Kiss that gorgeous curve that runs from her ear to her shoulder, a hand on her waist to steady her, the other one at her jaw...

Yeah. He has it bad.

He drops his eyes, finds himself studying the way their feet look next to each other. Compared to the shiny black of his Ralph Lauren dress shoes, Kate's heels look almost white in the dim light, even though he knows from watching her earlier that they're more like - beige. Dark beige, maybe.

He honestly has no idea how she can walk on such heels, let alone dance.

"It's a question of habit, you know," she says with a half-smile, and he realizes he must have voiced his concern.

Or she might have read his mind. That happens too.

"I don't think I could ever get used to them," he shoots back, exaggerating his shudder - although, truly, the more he looks, the less healthy the shoes seem. "Not that I don't love you in them," he adds for the sake of clarity, "but seriously, they look - painful."

He looks up at her just in time to see her flinch, anxiously rewinds the thread of their conversation. Oh, damn. He's an idiot.

Love. Did he say love? He meant_ like_. Obviously, he meant like -

But he can't say anything without making things worse, and anyway Kate seems surprisingly okay with it, moves past it without much effort.

That only strengthens his belief that she's lying about what she remembers.

"Want to try my shoes on, Castle?" she asks with that teasing smile, that glimpse of tongue; the responsive tug of arousal on his guts immediately brings him back to the moment.

"I'd say yes," he answers with a grin of his own, "but I'm afraid I'd ruin their lovely shape, and since the wedding isn't over... I'd be sorry to condemn you to a barefoot evening."

Mmm, maybe sorry isn't the right word. Actually, her suggestion is more than a little appealing. He's not sure what is that gets to him - the idea of holding her shoe in his hand and the strange intimacy that comes with that, with her hand on his shoulder when she'd lean on him for balance; or the simple vision of a barefoot Kate that breeds a dozen others, Kate tiptoeing on his hardwood floor when she comes to join him in bed, Kate coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, flashing him that full-mouth grin that he absolutely loves.

"You fantasizing about my shoes, Castle?" she asks lightly, once again rousing him, saving him from himself.

_Quite the opposite_, he's tempted to answer, but surely it would be a bad idea. A bad idea. Right?

Kate's not looking at him, but she's definitely smiling into her glass, still nursing that last drop of Amaretto that she seems reluctant to drink. He cannot tear his eyes from the curve of her mouth, the lift of her cheekbone.

"Cause if you are," she goes on, her voice alive with amusement, delicious, "I could always lend them to you when the party's over, you know. If you ask nicely."

In a desperate attempt to push back the answer that immediately flourishes on his tongue, he swallows the last of his own glass, lets it slide down his throat, as slow as he can.

But then the Amaretto is gone and the words are still there, still tingling in his mouth, and he has to let them out. "Somehow," he says, as nonchalantly as he can, "I doubt the shoes themselves would retain much of my interest without their owner around."

He expects a sharp breath, or something to indicate a measure of shock on her part - even though, really, this is nothing she doesn't know - and when he's only met with silence, he turns his head to her, anxiety gnawing at his insides.

Kate's eyes are still trained on her glass, but she has this thoughtful look on her face. He waits her out, waits until she downs her glass, firmly sets it back on the bar, and meets his gaze.

"I guess you have to work on a way to get both the shoes and the owner, then," she says, and there's a hint of a smile on her mouth that contradicts the dark hesitancy in her eyes.

The exhale of relief is out of his mouth before he knows it, and he clears his throat.

"Any, uh, suggestions on how to do that?"

The seed of a grin becomes flower on her face.

"Well, I've heard dancing is really popular among shoes."

He lets the laugh bubble out of him, delighted with her and her closeness, with the lights, the music, the pound of his heart against his ribcage. The light-headed, giddy feeling is back, and it's all Kate Beckett's doing.

"Dancing it is, then. And Kate?"

She blinks. "Yeah?"

"Don't forget your camera."

* * *

><p>Everybody has been allowed back on the dance floor, Kate has already handed off the camera to Espo, and it's packed now, bodies moving and sweating and crowding the space. It's a little intimidating when you're not right in the middle of it, and Kate hesitates for a second, suddenly tempted to go back to the bar, to her little bubble with Castle. That space of quiet teasing and shared, beautiful silence.<p>

But he's tugging her forward before she can say as much, and right when they get into a corner that's slightly less populated, the music changes, slows down, the sounds of a violin replacing that of an electric guitar.

The band announces that this will be their last song, after which they will let the DJ take over.

There's a chorus of protests among the crowd, and although Kate doesn't take part in it, she has to admit that for an amateur band, they're really good.

Castle crowds her, his left hand at her waist, the other one closing around her fingers, and she doesn't know what she expected, but there's no hesitation, no beat of awkwardness as he draws her close, their cheeks almost touching.

He's solid against her, radiating warmth, and Kate lets her eyelids flutter shut, tries to keep her body from simply giving in and resting into his.

She wonders if he can feel the rapid staccato of her heart as he swirls them around, the pace of the song so slow, drawn-out, sensual, just like his hand at her back.

The singer is not Etta James, but she has a voice of her own, rich and powerful. When she sings, "I found a dream to rest my cheek to," Kate shivers, haunted by the beauty of the song, by the way she seems to read new meaning into it.

All because of the man who holds her, of course, who cradles her in his arms like something precious and delicate, like -

Someone he loves.

And in the end, she does exactly what the song says.

She rests her cheek to her dream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Plus One**

as always, co-written by **Sandiane Carter** and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>At last.<p>

They're going to leave. The MC is apparently Jenny's father, because he's teary-eyed as he bids farewell to the band and asks the wedding guests to line up along the entrance so the newlyweds can run the gauntlet. He promises them that the DJ and the ballroom are theirs for another couple hours, but right now they all need to see the couple off.

Castle still has a hand on Kate's waist, but she's groaning and twisting away from him. "I need my camera. Did you see who had it last?"

Oops. "No. Esposito passed it off to someone awhile ago, Lanie, I think. But there's no telling-"

She runs a hand through her hair, indecisive, and Castle steps in front of her, shielding her against the flow of traffic against them. Everyone on the dance floor is heading for the hotel's front doors, grabbing a little bottle of bubbles on their way out.

Kate puts a hand to his chest, pushes him back. "Let me go get my phone at least. I think it has more megapixels than my camera anyway-"

Castle turns and spearheads his way through the oncoming guests, Kate's hand bunched in his jacket as she follows him. They're jostled by relatives and friends, pushed into each other more often than not, and just when he's breaking through the last of them, Kate stumbles into his shoulder.

He reaches behind him and grabs her by the hip, holding her up, turning his head to look at her. "Okay?"

"Good," she answers on a laugh and extricates herself from the tangle of tulle and flowers at her feet. "Not sure where this came from."

He still has a hand on her hip; she wraps her fingers around his tie and lifts her foot, tugging a swatch of decorative material from her heel. He can feel the press of her forearm down the center of his chest, the flare of her hip under his palm.

"Okay, lead on," she says, pushing on him a little when she's got her feet under her.

Castle threads his fingers through hers and tugs her back to their table. She shakes him off to get her clutch, pulling her phone out and checking it. Kate glances up to him, takes him by the elbow and turns him back around.

"Let's go. I don't want to miss this."

She hooks her arm through his, their strides matching perfectly, and her body - strong and sinuous and appealingly curved - presses at his side as they head for the front doors.

He nabs two little containers of bubbles as they go, glances at her face when he hands it to her. Kate is all wide-mouth smile and brown-brimming eyes, and she's looking at him and nowhere else. Her fingers are cool against his palm as she takes the bubbles, still grinning, her hair falling into her eyes.

They line up side by side in the gauntlet of guests that runs from the lobby, out the front doors, and all the way towards the car that's pulled up. A vintage 1930s Beauford convertible in cream and brown, the top up, the black tire mounted on the running board under the windshield. The classic wedding car. With a driver idling the engine.

"Nice," he murmurs, and feels Kate shifting beside him to peer down the long row of people.

"Here they come," she says, swaying against him as she bounces a little. He's not sure how she manages that, considering how high her heels are, but she turns a ridiculously happy face towards him and squeezes his arm. "Look."

He obeys, glancing down the row to watch Kevin and Jenny ducking through a veil of bubbles, the Ryans now, Jenny with a grin that won't stop, Kevin nodding his head to people he knows, fist-bumping a few. Castle really does, kinda, envy them. He'd do it again if it looked like this.

If it was this woman on his arm then as she is now.

Castle has only to shift his gaze to take her in, instead of the wedded two coming down the gauntlet towards them. Kate has twisted the top off of her bottle, her mouth already pursed and blowing, the diaphanous bubbles forming, tremoring circles, then floating away.

His stomach clenches; he finds himself pressing her elbow into his side with his arm and then sliding his hand to her waist, thumb at her hipbone, needing to hold on.

Dizzy with it, the angular cheekbones, the line of her nose, the parting of her lips when she dips the wand back for more, Castle doesn't even get his own bubbles out, simply stands dazed and struck as Kevin and Jenny pass down the receiving line.

He feels Ryan's slapping palm to his shoulder as he moves on, turning to watch only because Kate has turned as well, blows bubbles past his ear and over his shoulder, her body crowded against his back.

Now that Kate isn't in his line of sight, he finds he can breathe again, resume normal functions; he even manages to blink.

Ryan holds the door open for Jenny; she slides across the backseat to the other side, pats the spot next to her with a laugh. Castle can hear Esposito catcalling, the Ryan sisters are crying and waving, Jenny's huge family is shouting orders and trying to outdo one another in making the couple blush.

The driver waits a beat longer and then starts slowly pulling out; rattling behind the car are brightly colored handcuffs, neons and pinks mostly, leopard print and padded, a few standard police issue, and their clatter causes Ryan to turn, notice the decorations. Jenny is seriously blushing this time, but Kevin starts laughing, raises up in the backseat, and makes his half of the feed the birds gesture.

Esposito whoops and returns it.

Beside Castle, Kate is laughing so hard that she leans against his shoulder, gasping, her chin poking into him. He turns to look at her with a grin, raises his eyebrows. "Any of those handcuffs yours?"

She laughs harder, shaking her head, wipes a tear from the corner of one eye, glances at her finger to make sure there's no mascara running (he's seen that move often enough to know).

She sighs on a laugh and lifts joyful, teasing eyes to his.

"No, Castle. I'm saving mine."

* * *

><p>As they turn around with the rest of the crowd and head back inside, having to zigzag between the people - mostly families with young children, and older folks - who are leaving now and saying goodbye, Kate cannot help throwing little glances over her shoulder. As if she expects Ryan and Jenny's car to still be there, as if she could prolong the moment by the sheer force of her will.<p>

Castle notices the shift in her mood, of course; he squeezes her hand, gives her a questioning look.

She has to stop the hand-holding thing. She knows she does. But he reached for her fingers so he could lead them back inside, not even a hold really, simply a loose curl of his hand around hers, and she just -

She doesn't have the heart to deny him a simple pleasure.

Not when she's denying him everything else.

She waits until they're back in the dining room to answer the question he hasn't asked. The space is quieter and somehow, more intimate than before, but she knows it won't last - it's simply because not everyone has made their way back yet.

"I just - it goes by so quickly, you know?" she says softly, sitting in the chair he pulls out for her. She watches him sit down next to her, his face so relaxed, handsome; his blue eyes are shining with attention, urging her on. "All this preparation - all the anticipation, the excitement, and then... Before you know it, it's over already."

Honestly, she doesn't know where the melancholy comes from. She was laughing not ten minutes ago, delighted with the handcuffs thing and the general euphoria, but now -

She doesn't want it to be over.

Ah, but it doesn't have much to do with Ryan and Jenny, does it?

"Well," Castle says, his voice deep, meant only for her. "Somebody more optimistic might tell you that you're looking at this the wrong way. That instead of being over, it's just... the beginning."

She huffs an amused sound, her lips curving into a reluctant smile.

"And that somebody more optimistic would be you, Castle?"

He shrugs, grinning back, obviously pleased with his ability to cheer her up. Her chest feels too tight, all of a sudden.

"Maybe," he says.

"What you call optimistic, some people would call cheesy," she points out, arching an eyebrow at him. "And probably unrealistic, too." Is she leaning towards him? It feels like she is. She tries to move away, sit up straighter, but her spine is being rebellious tonight.

Great. As if her fingers were not enough.

Castle smiles - he doesn't seem to have any trouble with riotous body parts, and she's more than a little jealous - and inches a little closer. Thus undoing all of her previous efforts. She sighs inwardly.

"I don't think any of those people are here tonight," he says confidently, waving off her objection with a flick of his hand. His eyes are warm, tender. "Do you?"

Oh, he's making it hard to think when he looks at her like that. Not the lustful leer, not the puppy dog face, just -

The eyes of a man who loves her.

"No," she says at last, and it's funny that her voice can come out so low, when her heart is a loud, frantic hammer in her chest. "No, I guess not."

He beams at her, apparently enchanted that she's willing to forego her own mistrustful nature for one night, and she's not sure what she might do - it's too much, too much, the twinkle in these deep blue eyes, the radiant happiness in his smile - when a sudden flash of light blinds her, makes her jerk back in shock.

"Ow," Castle exclaims indignantly as she blinks, dazed. "That was-"

"-painful," she finishes together with him.

He gives a light, surprised chuckle that she ignores, focusing on the source of the flash as her vision clears. A twenty-something guy with a mess of dark hair is standing a few meters away, holding a camera, and he grins at them, gives them a thumbs up.

"Great picture, guys!" he says before moving to another group of people.

And that's -

That's her camera.

"Wait, kid!"

She jumps to her feet, pushed by a strong conviction that if she doesn't get it back now, she might never see that camera again.

She doesn't care so much about the camera, to be honest - she's been planning to get a new one for ages - but the pictures on it are another story. She wants them. Badly.

Kate dashes after the young man, dodging the guests who are still coming back in, and finally lands a hand on his shoulder, her grip strong enough to make him swing around. The stunned, and somewhat scared look on his face makes her smile in satisfaction.

Even though he's not a murder suspect.

"That's mine," she says, gesturing at the camera. He stares at her dumbly, and in the end she simply reaches for her possession, delicately unwrapping his fingers from around it. "Thanks," she says, leaving him standing there as she heads back to the table.

Castle is watching her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"I think you just traumatized the poor kid," he comments as she takes her seat next to him.

"Nah," she says dismissively, "he'll be fine. And jeez, thanks *so much* for the help back there, Castle."

He grins. "You didn't need any. You got it."

The smile escapes her before she can rein it in.

"You know what that means, though, don't you? You didn't help get the camera. You don't get to see the pictures."

"Woah, woah, woah. Now, that seems a little extreme."

"Does it? Only sounds fair to me," she shrugs, very pleased with his sudden concern. "But, you know. You can always try begging, if you feel so inclined."

"Oh, really. Begging."

She can tell by his voice that he's all but thrilled with the idea, but there's mirth in there too, and that thoughtful note that says he's planning something. She's pulled her chair away from his, so that she can look at the pictures without him seeing them, but she quickly turns the camera off again when he draws near.

"Castle."

"Please, Kate," he says, his voice so earnest, so raw; and when she looks up he's entirely too close, blue eyes too intense, almost dark in the dim light.

He's just messing with her. She knows he is.

And yet -

No.

"No," she says firmly. "You'll have to do better than that."

Okay, and her mouth is running away from her now. Why can't she just leave it alone? Instead of asking for trouble.

"Do better?"

He looks much too happy with the suggestion; he slides to the edge of his chair, leaning in towards her, and her heart skips a beat or two.

He takes her free hand in his, gentle and slow, cradling it to his chest, eyes beseeching, and then -

He promptly snatches the camera from her unsuspecting right hand, laughing triumphantly as she blinks, stunned, trying to get past the flicker of disappointment in her chest, the numbness in her brain.

"Gotcha," he winks, a proud grin on his face.

Uh-huh.

Yeah. He's definitely got her.

* * *

><p>"Heh," he laughs, grinning at the goofy-looking picture of Ryan from before the wedding, when they all met up in the foyer.<p>

Kate makes a noise - something like a grunt or a growl, something he is completely willing to attempt to replicate - and she shoves on his shin with her foot. The heels have finally come off, thank goodness, because otherwise that would've hurt.

"Stop hogging the camera, Castle. I can't see."

He lifts his eyes from the screen and crooks his finger at her. "Then get over here, Beckett, and stop whining about it. Fair's fair."

"It's not fair," she mutters, but she does come, scooting her chair closer to his and craning her neck to see.

He sighs. "Not like that." Castle shifts slightly, then reaches over and grips the seat of her chair and drags the whole thing over to him. She lets out a startled laugh, clutching the sides of the chair, lifting her feet. "There ya go."

She stares at him for half a beat, mouth open on a grin, then she gives in and pulls her legs up under her, leaning in.

Her body presses against his back; he has to prop his elbows up on the table to stay steady as Kate peers over his shoulder. Her left arm brackets his on the table, she uses her thumb to advance the photo, then laughs softly in his ear at the next picture.

"How'd you get that one?" he smiles, tilting his head to see clearer.

"I turned the flash off. It's a little blurry, I bet, when you zoom in-"

Her hand crosses his body to get at the zoom function, tightening up on the faces of Jenny and Ryan in front of the priest, being presented as man and wife. It is a little blurry.

"You can clean that up a little in photoshop."

"I'll probably slip it to one of the guys in tech."

He grins and turns her his head to tell her _good idea_ but when he does, her face is scant inches from his own, her eyes dark and glittering with amusement, with nonchalance and ease and all the things he never thought he'd see in her when he's this close. Her eyes flit down to gaze at his mouth (he can practically feel it, a tingling touch to the raw nerves of his lips), and then her eyes are back at his.

She has no idea she does that. She has no idea what it does to him.

"Keep going," she says, a little impatiently, and reaches forward again to see the next photo. She presses against him, flush with his back, all firm and strong and good-smelling Kate.

The next picture startles him into forgetting - for only a second - how close Kate leans against him. The display shows him in profile, that squinty-eye look he doesn't exactly love, but his smile is at least genuine and-

"Oh, that's a good one," she murmurs, and everything in him goes very still at her tone, the regard, even as she's already flipping to the next photo. A closeup of flowers in someone's hand, then the next is one of the flower girls peering around the door at the front of the church. After that-

He laughs out loud, jostling Kate at his back so that she leans a forearm against his shoulder blade to prop herself up, her face turning to him.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, that's classic. Who took this one?"

She huffs. "Probably Lanie. I think she had - no. It would have to be Esposito, right? He had it first."

"He did. I love this." It's Kate slamming back her first amaretto at his side, the look on his face clearly gleeful while hers is determined. "What else did Espo get?"

She's still got her left arm around him, advancing the photos while he uses his right hand to hold the camera on the table. The warmth of her body at his back is so good, so comforting, he hopes the camera was passed around to every wedding guest here.

They go through most of them in silence, laughing from time to time at a random shot, at people they've never seen, at the little kid breakdancing, the blurred thing that might actually be Kate at the edge of the screen, the candids and the poses, the snapshots of all aspects of the wedding party.

And then they're at the end. The photo-taking that prompted Kate to chase after the young guy and get her camera back.

Just the two of them. Sitting close. Leaning in.

At first, Castle is so riveted by the Kate in this photo, an angle to her face so that it shows mostly her profile, that mane of wavy hair, the sharp angle of her chin, the long, sure line of her nose, the ridge of her eyebrow - at first, this is all he sees, all he can possibly see. Kate.

Then he realizes that the Kate leaning against him has sucked in a breath and gone quiet, her chin - which was propped on his shoulder until now - is hovering just above him, her palm flat at his back as if she's not sure whether to stay or leave.

And then he sees. Sees the whole picture.

Most of his own face in this photo is in view, his eyes distinctly locked on his companion at the table, his smile so earnest and eager and brimming.

And it's all there, everything. Every last unutterable thing.

Damn. When did he get so transparent?

Since Kate is at his back, she can't see him close his eyes, try to keep breathing evenly, despair falling down his throat and burning its way through his chest.

Because no one looking at this photo isn't going to know.

The whole tragic story. How he loves her so pathetically much.

How he can't have her.

So if she missed it the first time, now she definitely knows.

And the night is over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Plus One**

by** Sandiane Carter **and **chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>Kate is not really surprised when Castle suggests they leave.<p>

Yes, half an hour ago, he seemed keen on staying, but ever since they looked at this picture-

He's been withdrawn, subdued, completely unlike the charming man from before. The man who fed her and made her laugh and (oh, _yes_) danced with her. She's not certain what caused the change, but she has a couple ideas.

Whatever the theory, though, she wants to do something about it. And a more intimate setting can only be a good thing, right?

So she gives him a nod of approval, stifling a yawn as she stretches out her legs, then slides her shoes back on, idly looking for her purse.

She's tired, anyway, and the once-lovely buzz of Amaretto is slowly turning into a headache. Home seems a lovely prospect. If she can convince Castle to come up for coffee.

"Can I - give you a ride home?"

Her head swivels back to him, struck as she is by the hesitancy in his voice, the quiet, unassuming tone. As if he expects her to say no.

Her brow knits as she takes in the firm line of his mouth, the taut set of his jaw. He looks...miserable. He can try to hide it all he wants, but she sees.

What was in this picture, to make him look like this?

So-

-broken.

Her heart aches for him.

"Sure, Castle," she answers softly, resting a light hand on his upper arm.

But he doesn't take it, doesn't even acknowledge the touch, even though a flash of relief crosses his face at her positive answer. He starts making his way out, and she has no choice but to follow, puzzled, her throat tight with anxiety.

She loves that picture.

Her profile has never been her best angle - at least, not in her opinion - but for once she didn't pay attention to the too-strict line of the jaw, or the too-long arch of the nose. No, she was stunned by something very different.

How relaxed she looked, how happy. How-

Radiant.

It feels strange (maybe a little conceited, too) to use that word to describe herself, and yet. Nothing else fits.

She's never seen that look in a picture of herself before.

Ah, that's not true. But the last time she smiled like this, with such abandon - everything showing in her eyes, the soft joy, the barely contained laughter, all the things this man does to her - she was nineteen then.

She was nineteen, and her mother was alive.

Kate feels the familiar lump forming in her throat, and she swallows, closes her eyes against the untimely emotion. Her mother is dead, dead, and there's nothing she can do about it. Only her life, her own life, to focus on.

That's what Burke has been telling her. _You need to stop thinking "when my mother was murdered," Kate. She _died. _And while you might want justice for the murder part, might want the closure, her _murder_ didn't leave that hole in you. Her _death_ did._

Does she believe that?

Some days it sounds appealing, sounds almost *right*. And some days she just thinks - what's the difference? Murder, death. Those things took her mother away, wrenched her mother's love from her, and if you ask Kate, the murder part is what _caused_ the death, so-

She sucks in a breath, shivers, unwilling to let the darkness shroud her.

"Are you cold?"

Castle. She's suddenly reminded of where they are - standing on the sidewalk, waiting for his car to arrive - and before she's had time to say no, the writer has taken off his coat, draped it over her shoulders. She'd only brought a thin wrap with her, the heaviness of his coat is welcome.

The fabric is warm; it smells like him.

"Thanks," she murmurs. A ridiculous sense of comfort envelops her; it nearly brings tears to her eyes. That last glass of Amaretto was probably too much.

Castle steps back, returns to his previous spot, entirely too far from her. He's staring at the road, looking both determined and forlorn, and she just-

can't take it.

It only takes two steps to close the space between them, and then she's sliding her hand at his elbow, her fingers naturally curling there, like a bird finding its customary perch.

She feels his jerk of surprise, but she doesn't look, doesn't look, doesn't let herself look up at his face. Can't stop now. She needs this, and she wants to believe.

Wants to believe that he needs it too.

When she moves to rest her cheek on the top of Castle's shoulder - damn heels, that won't let her do more than this, her neck at an awkward angle - he lets out a soft breath; she can't tell exactly what it is, peace or relief or hope, but she can tell it's something good.

And after a moment, his right hand comes up and, ever so slowly, drifts towards her own, until his palm covers her fingertips. With any other man, it would look like an attempt at keeping her there, a will to possess, to cage; with him, it feels like a gesture of worship.

She closes her eyes, breathes the night in, savoring the way it mingles with Castle's fragrance. Cologne and sweat, male and warm; it curls inside her lungs, puts her heart at rest.

A smile flourishes on her lips, and hope expands in her chest.

Maybe their driver will get lost.

* * *

><p>He's not sure how he's going to survive whatever this is, if this is how it's gonna go. He can't take it. One moment so overwhelmed with her laughter, and the next certain everything is over, done for.<p>

And then the next moment - whatever is going on here - he can't grasp it. He can't understand. This is Kate Beckett, and she usually yells at him, or shuts him out. Cold shoulder. Only, at the moment, his shoulder is anything but cold.

Maybe he's thinking too hard.

He doesn't want to let go when the car arrives, but when she moves to get in the backseat, her hand trails down his arm, as if she's just as reluctant to part from him.

Castle gets in after her, adjusting as he sits, getting settled. He tugs on his suit jacket so he's not wrinkling it, shuts the door after himself, and gives the driver her address. Just as he shifts back into the seat, he feels Kate's arm slide through his, her body close and warm, a slow heat building between them.

He turns his head to look at her, confused but willing to go along with anything, anything at all, she wants to do.

"Are you okay?" she murmurs, curiosity mixed with concern.

He doesn't know how to answer that. Not now. He was panicking, despairing over something that apparently wasn't at all-

"If you need your coat back-" she starts, nudging his ribs with her elbow.

His coat. Oh. "No. I'm fine. Keep it for now, Kate."

The car meets relatively little traffic, to his disappointment, and the night now really is truly over. He's trying to figure out a good parting line, something to do justice to the amazing time they've had, when the driver pulls up in front of Kate's building and the engine purrs to a stop.

He's got nothing. Just inane _I had a great time_ and a longing, last look in her eyes. He's doomed. She makes him tongue-tied when it's serious. He can think of a hundred funny quips, irreverent suggestions, and one-liners. But now that they're here, and it's done-

Well, delay the inevitable. "Want me to walk you up? Keep my coat on a little longer that way," he grins, hoping.

"More than that," she says, one of those inviting grins spreading across her face. "Come up with me."

Come up? Come _up_?

"Yes. Okay." Come up. Wow.

She opens the door herself - he's totally falling down on the job - and Castle scrambles out after her, leaning in to tell the driver to go on home. He'll call a cab. . .later. Whenever later is. He doesn't want her worrying about the driver if she - no. No, it wasn't like, come up and-

He very nearly asks. He's this close to asking her what's going on, but he keeps his mouth shut and does something else really stupid instead. After she unlocks the main security door, and then steps through the lobby of her apartment building -

he takes her hand.

Kate doesn't even hesitate, she leads them to the stairs, her body shrouded in his coat, flashes of her gorgeous legs as she goes up ahead of him. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, her fingers are squeezing rhythmically against his, as if she has some song in her head still, her hips swaying in time.

She tugs him past the landing, up the final flight, the back of his hand brushing her hip on every other step. It's like she doesn't even notice. Which isn't possible. These aren't barely there, skimming glances, this is the thump of their clasped hands knocking into her hip, over and over. His whole hand is burning at the touch; she can't possibly not feel it.

At her door, she squeezes and lets go of him to unlock it. She doesn't go in first though; she stands in front of the door and nudges him through, as if to make certain he's coming inside.

"I don't know about you, but I've got the beginnings of a headache. I need coffee. You?" She shuts the door after him, flipping the locks, moving past him to drop her keys and clutch on the kitchen counter. Next are her shoes, and she drops four or five inches to her bare feet.

Something about her is so hopeful. Waiting on a word from him.

"Coffee would be great," he says, coming forward to wrap his fingers around her elbow, an instinctive move, a response to the look in her eyes.

She smiles at him, brings her hand up to pat his chest, her fingers then curling around his tie - what is with his tie tonight? - and then she tugs a little, that grin still gracing her lips. "I'll start the coffee, and then I'm going to change out of this dress. Do you mind?"

"Do you need help?" He grins down at her, pleased to see the pressed-lip, struggling-not-to-smile look on her face. That's a great one. Wide, expressive mouth, dancing eyes. Beautiful. God, she's beautiful. And she's looking at him like that, and he - he just -

Kate quirks an eyebrow at him, finally, then turns her back to him, peering over her shoulder, drawing her hair away from her neck. "Top hook is hard to get, Castle, if you can handle it."

He narrows his eyes at her, wondering what she's playing at and entirely too happy to play at it with her. He lifts his hands to the soft skin of her neck, uses his fingertips to smooth away the fine hairs on her nape, taking his time. If she's messing with him, or flirting, or something, then he's going to give as good as he gets.

He leans in close, his body hovering close to her curves, pulls back the edge of her collar, finds the hook.

He can feel Kate's body quiver when his breath skirts her neck. He grins and slides the hook from the eye slowly, lets it pop free at the very last second, then thumbs the zipper.

Should he?

He wants to.

Castle tugs on the zipper, watching the material split apart slowly. He pauses well before any skin is revealed, fingers against the sides of her dress, getting a thin sliver of pale skin, a freckle, the ridge of bone where her spine meets her neck.

She lets out a long breath that she's apparently been holding, her shoulders stiff.

He swallows. "Got it started for you," he murmurs and takes a step back. "I'll get the coffee. You go. . .get decent." Shit. Comfortable. He meant to say comfortable.

Kate turns, an eyebrow raised as if to take umbrage with him, but he sees the swirl of hesitation and. . .and longing? Kate?

"Coffee better be ready when I get out," she warns, pushing on his sternum with a finger before slipping away.

He takes precious time to watch her walk towards her bedroom, the slight gap at the top of her dress and the shifting sway of her hips - mesmerizing.

When she disappears behind the door, he sucks in a breath and wipes a hand over his face on a shiver.

Damn. He can't believe he did that. Can't believe she just *let* him do that.

Amazing.

* * *

><p>Kate closes the door to her bedroom and then rests her back against it, breath rushing out of her lungs in shaky little pants that she has no control over.<p>

Oh god, oh god. What is she doing?

She closes her eyes tight, presses her mouth together, her fingers clenched on the door handle. The whole thing isn't without reminders of a certain night in a certain LA hotel, except-

Except he didn't touch her then. There was no hypnotizing brush of his fingertips against her spine, no warm exhale caressing her skin...

Oh, stop it, stop it. This is ridiculous.

Stop it right there, Kate Beckett.

They need to start this thing already, don't they? she thinks with a ghost of a smirk as she pushes herself off the door, reaches back to pull down her zipper. Otherwise the anticipation might kill her. Kill them both?

Or, by the time they finally get together, his touch will barely be necessary to get her-

Yeah, no. Not a good line of thought when the man is standing in your living room, and you're only a few feet away, trying to tame the wild arousal galloping in your stomach.

Kate peels the dress off and throws it on the bed, reaching automatically for the clasp of her bra before her hands still in hesitation.

Maybe she shouldn't - she was going to dress for bed, leggings and a t-shirt, nothing Castle hasn't seen her in, but what if...?

She shakes her head at herself. She seriously needs to stop thinking.

She gets rid of the bra, puts on t-shirt and leggings, and adds a sweatshirt. There. Compromise.

And now, back to the kitchen.

She can do this.

* * *

><p>Coffee helps. It always does.<p>

With a cup of hot coffee cradled in her palms, it's easy to sit on her couch next to Castle, tuck her legs under her, and fall into an easy conversation about the last few hours, the look on Esposito's face when Kate called him Lanie's dessert, all the thousand little things that made this wedding such an amazing one.

"Admit it," the writer teases after a while, wiggling an eyebrow at her. "One of the reasons you liked it so much is that for once, you didn't have to wear an ugly bridesmaid's dress."

Kate hides her smile behind her cup, but she knows it's all over her face. And after all, what's the harm in letting him see?

"Damn, Castle, you got me. Although, I guess, the dresses Jenny chose for her bridesmaids weren't the worst I've seen. Far from it, actually," she adds with a wince, remembering her cousin Lisa's wedding and the pink chiffon.

Ug. But at least she learned something from it. Pink is *not* her color.

"Hmm, you're right," her partner says. "In fact," he looks at her pensively, "I bet that shade of green would have looked pretty great on you."

"What are you saying, Castle?" she shoots back innocently, though she's pleased with the compliment. "You didn't like my dress?"

He gasps in outrage, exaggerated of course, designed to make her laugh (and so she does). "Katherine Beckett, will you stop putting words into my mouth? I said nothing of the sort. I love your dress. I think your dress is great. And I would love to...deepen our acquaintance."

"First my shoes, and now my dress. You're starting to worry me, you know."

He only gives her a small smile in response, but his blue eyes are too serious, too full - she can hear his voice in her ear again.

_I doubt the shoes would retain much of my interest without the owner around._

She tries to distract herself with a sip of coffee, but almost spits it out: too cold. It must be later than she thought.

She's half-tempted to get up and put the cup in the dishwasher, but that would mean moving away from Castle and the warmth his shoulder radiates. Their arms aren't touching, but they've gravitated closer over time, and now there's probably no more than an inch between them.

If she gets up, he will take it as his cue to leave.

She doesn't want that.

But he takes the choice away from her, standing up himself, reaching for her cup as he does.

She follows him to the kitchen, watches him put stuff in the dishwasher, struck by how at home he looks, when he's only been here a handful of times.

He turns back to her, his face soft in the shadows of the kitchen. Always handsome. The gel is all gone from his hair now, and it sticks out in every direction - the dancing, probably. Before she knows it Kate is moving forward, pushing back a strand that's fallen over his forehead.

His eyes slam shut, and when she drops her hand, he catches it gently.

"I should go, Kate," he murmurs, eyes opening again, a deep blue that makes her breath catch.

She presses her lips together, fishing for objections, anything that will keep him with her, just a little longer. But damn it, she's got nothing.

"You don't have to," is all she has to offer, and she knows it's not enough.

He smiles at her, so gentle, so sad that it hurts. God, it hurts.

"Don't I?"

She sucks in a breath, wishing more than anything that she could tell him _no, stay, stay with me._ Wishing that she was more, that she was enough. But soon, Castle, soon-

Of course, none of that passes her lips.

Her partner leans in, slowly, as if he's afraid of spooking her, and he presses his mouth to her cheek, a strange echo to the sign of peace in the church earlier. And yet, it's not the same kiss; this one is more confident. Like a promise.

She lets her hand fist on his shirt, unwilling to let go of him just yet.

She likes him close, his cheek to hers, his scent all around her.

"I had a good time tonight, Castle," she whispers, watching her breath ripple over the small hairs above his ear.

"Me too, Kate." The rumble of his voice is a cool, lovely cascade that undoes the knots inside her chest, makes the whole thing easier.

"Thank you," she breathes, and her fingers loosen, set him free.

She turns her head just when he's moving back, and their lips brush - not exactly an accident, not exactly a kiss either. Castle's eyes widen in the half light, and she gives him the smile that erupts in her chest, doesn't hold back.

It's light and warm and delicious, and it's all his doing.

"Goodnight, Rick."

He grins back, slow, beautiful, her stomach flipping at the sight of him, and he steps away.

"Goodnight, Kate."

She closes the door after him, locking the bolts, and not even that - not even the security checks that come with having been shot in the chest last spring - not even that can tarnish the joy simmering in her heart.

Soon.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Sandiane Carter:**

This is how it usually happens. Chezchuckles tells me about this idea she had for a story - it's always a pretty great idea, of course, because she's chezchuckles, right? - and, do I want to write it with her? So I say yes (I'm not stupid enough to say no to that) and then one of us starts it, writes a whole scene and sends it to the other. The other does a reasonable amount of gushing, writes the next scene because - of course - all this amazing writing has inspired her, and it goes on like that, back and forth.

It's, yeah. Pretty amazing. Also, we trust each other to take the story in the right direction, and have an incredibly similar perception of these characters, and all these things just - make writing together such a fun and enriching and exhilarating experience.

So, yeah. I'm hooked. :)

**chezchuckles:**

I love SC. She's seriously so good at this. She sends me her scene and I flail for a little while and quote lines back at her as we message each other, and then I jump right in to the next scene. It's so inspiring. I've missed having a writing partner these last few years, and I'm so grateful to have found my writing sister :)

As for this story - the end of the wedding episode was perfect, for me at least. SC didn't love it. As well as most of you, from what I've read. So in my effort to convince SC that it was exactly enough, just what we need from them at this point, all this happened. I wanted to extend the Kate Beckett we saw at the end - the smiling, happy, taking-pictures, arm in Castle's Kate Beckett - the Stana Katic of Kate. If that makes sense. We managed, I think, to stay in canon with it too. Which was the intent. To give you all something that just might have actually happened when the cameras were turned off.

Thank you all for reading.


End file.
